Know Thine Enemy
by susieq666
Summary: Someone makes an attempt on Horatio's life. Trouble is, he's got no idea who, and there's very little to go on. Worse - as they failed, are they going to try again?
1. Chapter 1

KNOW THINE ENEMY

Chapter 1

Horatio didn't know what caught his attention, especially as it was Sunday and he was off-duty, strolling from his condo to a nearby 7-Eleven. Thinking about… not very much. Maybe it was the sound of a big engine, revving fast. Maybe just a sixth sense. Whatever it was, he looked round.

The grille of a black SUV was perilously close, and coming fast. Aiming at him. No accident. All this rushed through his mind as he threw himself to one side. Almost too late… The vehicle struck him on one leg, sending him flying across the sidewalk. He heard it roar away.

For a few moments he lay there, shocked, hurt and winded. A passer-by bent down next to him.

"Christ, man… Did he just hit you?"

"Feels like it…" He was still struggling to catch his breath. "Did you… get the license?"

"No." The man was speaking into his cell. "Yeah, ambulance… And the police."

"Not the police. I _am_ the police."

"Okay." His helper looked a little confused. "All right. Not the police, just an ambulance." He closed his phone, and bent to help Horatio as he tried to sit up. "Maybe you should lie still…"

"Not that bad." He felt his left leg gingerly. It hurt like hell, but he didn't think it was broken. _Lucky._ He realised the car had hit him on the calf, just below his knee. From behind, otherwise he would certainly have been dealing with a broken leg and probably a smashed knee. He rotated his ankle, and gritted his teeth at the pain. "Don't think anything's broken."

"Was that deliberate? It looked like he drove right at you."

"I think so." He held out a hand. "Caine. Lieutenant, MDPD. Thanks for stopping. Help me up?"

He tried to get up, but, apart from a leg that wouldn't work, the change of position brought a wave of dizziness, and he sank back to a sitting position. "Sorry – need to catch my breath." He felt in his pocket for his own cell, and was relieved that it had survived the impact. He scrolled down and pressed 'Call'. "Eric? Are you in the city? Anywhere near my place?" Relief flooded him at the affirmative answer. "I need you. Someone just tried to kill me." He held the phone away from his ear until the expletives and questions subsided. "I'm okay. Just come." He gave his location, and then looked back at his rescuer. "What did you notice about the vehicle?"

"Not much. Black. Tinted windows."

"Make? I thought GMC."

"Could have been."

"Did you see the driver?"

"No, I was looking at you."

Horatio nodded, wished he hadn't, and dropped his head into his hands. "Sorry…"

The sound of a siren was surprisingly welcome. Sitting on the sidewalk was attracting far more attention than he liked. But the fact was that he felt too shocked, sick and dizzy to do anything about it. An ambulance pulled up. He let his rescuer explain what had happened and gave himself over to the paramedics. They lifted him into the back of the ambulance, which at least afforded some privacy.

"Is it just the leg? Or do you hurt anywhere else?"

"Just the leg. Few grazes…" He held up skinned palms, and showed them his bleeding elbows. "It was a heavy landing. I think I'm going to be sick."

"No worries. Shock'll do that." He was handed a bowl.

A pair of scissors was used to carefully cut the left leg of a favorite pair of jeans. "I could have taken them off – I don't think I've broken anything," he protested mildly.

"We don't know that. Wow, that's some swelling!"

It was. His knee was already close to twice its normal size and the extensive bruising was beginning to darken. A squeal of tires announced Eric's arrival.

"What happened?" He jumped into the ambulance.

Horatio forestalled the paramedic's protest. "My colleague. We're MDPD." The nausea caught up with him, and he retched into the bowl. "Sorry…" He lay back with his eyes closed for a few moments, then opened them and focussed on Eric. "I was run down. Black SUV. Tinted windows. Possibly GMC. Didn't get the plates."

"You mean deliberately?"

"Definitely. I almost got out of the way." He indicated his leg. "But not quite."

The paramedic looked up. "We need to get going. Get this X-rayed."

Eric said quickly, "I'll follow. And I'll get a BOLO out – not much to go on though."

The X-ray showed no broken bones, although, by then, he hardly believed it. When the doctor announced, "Just bruising, and possibly some tendon damage," Horatio had to bite his tongue not to make a very rude retort.

The doctor, reading his mind, added, "I shouldn't say 'just'. It's a very severe contusion. You won't be able to walk for a few days, not without crutches, anyway. Actually, you shouldn't walk on it much at all. You may not feel it, but you're lucky. You could have had your leg smashed."

"I _could_ be dead. It was what was intended," he said sourly. Then he forced a smile. "Sorry, doc. I know you're right."

"I'll sort you out some effective pain medication, and anti-inflammatories – that should reduce the swelling. Otherwise, rest and cold compresses." He looked up as Eric came in. Horatio made a quick introduction.

As the doctor left, Eric sat down. "Any idea who?"

"None. I mean, I'm not short of enemies…"

"Have you had threats you haven't told me about?"

"Nope. The usual low-lifes mouthing off in court. Nothing special."

"Nothing else you remember on the vehicle? Or the driver?"

"No. It looked like the ones the Feds use." He gave a brief grin.

Eric chuckled. "Doubt it was a Fed. Unless you've really upset someone."

Horatio's face straightened. "Seriously, I've no idea. Did you get the BOLO out?"

"Yes, without much hope… How are you, anyway?"

"Bit banged up. Nothing broken."

The doctor came back. He carried a pair of crutches, which he propped in a corner. He smiled at Horatio's expression. "Don't look like that, Lieutenant. I think you'll find you need them. We'll try in a minute. First…" He filled a syringe and injected it into his patient's arm. "That should start to work on the bruising, and the pain. Let me just have a look at the grazes, while you rest for a few minutes."

"They are only grazes."

"From a dirty sidewalk – you don't want sepsis."

Horatio gave in, and allowed his elbows and hands to be cleaned and bandaged. He chuckled. "How the hell do I handle a gun?"

"You don't." The doctor and Eric spoke together.

The doctor added. "Few days – as you said, you're just grazed. Although crutches and a gun might be a handful."

"Even for you," Eric murmured.

"Okay," the doctor said. "Do you want to try getting up?"

Horatio, with Eric's help, staggered to his feet. At least the shock was ebbing, and with it, the nausea. His injured leg would take his weight – just, but walking was near impossible.

The doctor held out the crutches. "Just for a couple of days… It'll heal quicker."

Eric brought his car to the door of the hospital, and his boss left the place gratefully – on crutches. Eric drove him to his condo, and helped him inside.

"Now rest. Can I get you anything?"

"I'm okay. You could make some coffee while I get these off." He gestured to the flapping leg of his jeans.

Eric went to the kitchen while Horatio hobbled to his bedroom. There, he changed to a bathrobe. He wasn't going anywhere, and he couldn't be bothered to dress. He was lying on the sofa when his colleague returned, with a pot of coffee, but a single mug.

"You not staying?" He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"I'm going back to the scene – see if your hit-and-run vehicle shed any bits and pieces. I'll be back in an hour. Less. You have a think about who it could be, while I'm gone."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

KNOW THINE ENEMY

Chapter 2

Horatio dozed on the sofa. His grazes stung and his bruises – which seemed now to be all over his body – throbbed. Despite that, whatever painkiller he'd been given made him sleepy. He knew Eric would expect him to come up with some ideas, but his brain refused to co-operate. Any cop made enemies – it went with the territory – but almost none of the threats of vengeance meant anything. Most felons accepted that being caught was a risk they took and, oddly, very few took the police's actions personally. Of course, there were always exceptions…

Eric was soon back.

"Anything?" Horatio asked.

"Not really. Well, tire tracks – acceleration tracks… I might be able to confirm the vehicle. A tiny piece of plastic… It may be nothing to do with it. Oh, and your sunglasses – well broken. I hoped there'd be broken glass from the car or something. I'll take your jeans – there might be trace on them." He sat down. "How do you feel?"

"Just bruised. I'm okay."

"God, you were so lucky… I've been thinking… Could it have been random?"

"I hope not! You mean a random hit-and-run? In broad daylight? Very unlikely, I'd think."

"I'd agree, except… how did he know you'd be there? It's not as if you were on your way to work. Or your regular run. I mean, you weren't somewhere he'd expect you to be. Except it was near your home."

"Maybe he's been watching me."

"Has he though? Have you seen that vehicle around here?"

Horatio tried to concentrate. "I don't think so. It's restricted parking round here… Difficult place to watch. And I'd have noticed something that looked like a Fed-mobile. I'd be wondering what I'd done."

"Any neighbors got a similar car? Any in your parking garage?"

"You think I upset my neighbors that much?" Then Horatio shook his head slowly. "No. There are a couple of SUVs down there, but not black…"

"So, if it wasn't completely random, do you think someone just happened to see you on the street?"

"I don't know, Eric! None of it makes sense." He rubbed his forehead. "I'm sorry. I'm not thinking clearly."

"Don't worry. You should rest."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to take what little I've got to the lab."

"It's Sunday."

"So?" Eric stood up. "Someone just tried to kill you. It's not waiting till Monday…" He went into the bedroom and returned with the discarded jeans and tee-shirt. "Do you want me to put an officer on the door?"

Horatio laughed. "No! This place is secure enough."

"All right. I'll see you later, okay?"

Horatio lay back and tried to sleep. Despite his battered weariness, he found himself going over recent cases in his mind. People he'd put in jail… No one stood out. The general resentment and bad-mouthing from the criminal classes rolled off him like water off a duck's back. But he was aware that some people were capable of nursing resentments for years, so 'recent' meant nothing. And… How _did_ they know where he'd be on a Sunday morning? And why have a go at him in a public place, in full view of witnesses? None of it made sense, and it hardly seemed planned. He just hoped to God it wasn't some random act of a lunatic. Just what Miami needed…

He got painfully to his feet and limped as far as the bedroom, stretching out on the bed. It eased the discomfort, but he couldn't sleep. Eventually, he got up, hobbled to the bathroom and swallowed more painkillers. He made fresh coffee, and went onto the balcony, hoping the sun would revive him.

Picking up a notepad and pen, he wrote a list, struggling with a sore and bandaged hand:

_Someone in jail, someone else doing the deed_

_Someone just released_

_Victim, perp not caught/found not guilty_

_Disgruntled employee_

_Acquaintance/neighbor_

He gazed at the list, and murmured aloud, "So just about anyone."

He turned his thoughts to the timing and location of the attack. He had no set routine on a Sunday, so no one could know he'd be on the street. It wasn't worth making a list about that. Either he'd been watched, or it was luck. He put the pad to one side, and examined his leg. He thought the swelling was slightly less, but the limb was turning interesting shades of black and red. He tried to bend his knee, but couldn't. He was fed up, and hoped Eric would be back soon.

* * *

His colleague didn't return until early evening.

"I'm glad to see you," Horatio murmured. "I'm bored out of my mind."

"I've brought food. Nothing special…"

"Thanks." He realised he was quite hungry. "Tell me what you've found out."

"Eat this while it's hot…" Eric went to get plates and silverware.

"Don't keep me on tenterhooks…"

Eric sighed. "I haven't got anything much to tell you. The tracks could certainly match a GMC SUV, but there are literally hundreds in Florida. Do you know it was a Florida plate?"

"I don't know it wasn't. Let's stick with Florida."

"I narrowed it to black, tinted windows. Still well over a hundred."

"What about the plastic?"

"I think it's from a vehicle, presumably that vehicle. I think it's a bit of the light guard – which is why the light didn't break. It's got a couple of numbers on it, so I can check with GMC dealers tomorrow."

"But it doesn't get us the car…" Horatio muttered. "Nothing else?"

"Your jeans – lots of dirt and scuffing from the sidewalk… but it's clear where you were hit, and there's some mud."

"Useful mud?"

"Maybe. It's got traces of fertilizer in it. I'm going to try to narrow down a manufacturer… but it's not from Central Miami, that's for sure. So… farmland? Market gardening? Even then, it doesn't mean it didn't just drive through it." He sighed. "Sorry, H. Not much. Oh, and nothing from the BOLO. Actually, they've stopped four similar cars, but they're in the clear." He picked up the discarded notepad, and chuckled ruefully. "Well, this covers a fair proportion of the population."

"I know. I'm sorry I've ruined your Sunday."

"Oh, no problem." Eric hesitated. "We have to think how to protect you…"

"What?"

"Well, they failed, didn't they? So they'll try again…"

Horatio shrugged. "I'll have to take my chances. I can't work if I'm constantly looking over my shoulder."

"There are things we could do. You could wear body-armor, for example. I mean, you're okay here – as you said, the security on this place is quite tight. Although… it happened nearby, so they must know you live here… and…" Eric was thinking aloud. "…a sniper shot could reach here…"

"Hey, slow down! Think about it, Eric. Running someone down is crude and dirty. Possibly even unplanned. Snipers are the opposite end of the scale. The same person's not going to do both. And no, I'm not wearing body-armor. It's too hot and heavy. And, if someone really wants to shoot me, they can always go for a head shot."

"I knew you'd argue."

"What do you expect, Eric? You can't protect someone a hundred per cent. You know that."

"Well, at least you're here for the time being."

"I'll be in tomorrow."

"H, you can't walk!"

"I bet I can by then. But I can't shoot, so I'll probably stay in the lab. And I'd like to get Frank's take on this."

"Look, I'll come by tomorrow morning… See how you are. And please don't do anything crazy."

Horatio's eyebrows shot up. "Like?"

"Going out. Walking on that leg. Answering the door to anyone."

"Eric… Do you really think I'm that stupid?"

"No, of course not. Sorry. I'm just worried."

"I know. Let's see what tomorrow brings. And thanks… for everything."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

KNOW THINE ENEMY

Chapter 3

After a restless night, Horatio awoke early. With some difficulty, he got out of bed and experimented. He found he could walk, using just one crutch for support. His leg still wouldn't bend and his whole body had stiffened up. It was surprisingly painful. But his brain was functioning, and he knew he could cope with work. He unwound the bandage on his right hand and inspected the damage. His palm was sore but dry, the grazes scabbing over. He tentatively flexed his fingers and found they worked, after a fashion. Enough to wash and shave. He made himself breakfast, then dressed for work. He took his badge and gun out of the safe and clipped them on. All right, he couldn't use the gun – his hands were too stiff – but at least he'd wear it, since he felt naked without it. He took some painkillers, put the bottle in his pocket, and waited for Eric.

"Well, you _look_ all right," his colleague said doubtfully. "Can you walk?"

"Well enough. What's that?" He took a cane that Eric held out.

"I thought you might prefer it to crutches."

"That's great," he smiled. "I've been using one crutch, but this is better. Is it yours?" He tried a few steps. He was limping heavily, but it didn't feel too bad, and he thought a cane looked less pathetic than crutches.

"From ages back – I broke my ankle… I forgot I'd still got it."

"Thanks."

As they reached the lab, Horatio was conscious of Eric's nervousness, as he looked around and shielded him as they walked inside.

"You can't keep this up," he said softly. "It'll drive us both mad."

"How can you be so casual about it?"

"Not casual, brother. Realistic. Does everyone know, by the way?"

"They will. I had to open a case."

He nodded, and prepared himself for the inevitable questions. "Okay, but I don't want it given undue prominence. There's plenty of other work." He thought for a moment. "You and I will work on it today. We'll talk to Frank – see if he's got any ideas. After that… we'll probably have to let it go."

"We can't!"

"I suspect we'll run out of leads very quickly."

"But you can't just forget it!"

"Oh, I won't forget it. But it may have to sit on the back-burner, until –"

"Until something else happens?" Eric sounded angry. "Suppose they succeed next time?"

Horatio shrugged. "It's how it is." He gripped his colleague's shoulder briefly. "Come on, let's see what we can do today."

It was still early, and they saw no one on the way to Horatio's office, where he sat down gratefully.

Eric looked worried. "Look – don't shout at me – but if it gets too much… call me and I'll take you home."

Horatio nodded briefly, then looked up at a knock on the door. Frank Tripp came in without waiting for permission.

"Is it true? Someone ran you down?" he demanded.

"They did."

"Are you hurt? Well, you must be. Eric? Why did you let him come to work?"

"Hey, Frank!" Eric laughed. "Do _you_ know a way of stopping him doing what he wants?"

"No, I suppose not."

"I'm here, you know…" Horatio murmured quietly. "And to answer you, Francis, I've got a lot of bruises, but no broken bones, and I'm fine. And it's my decision to work, not Eric's. Or yours." He smiled to soften his words. "Can you spare us an hour? I'd like your input…"

The detective sat down while they went over the sparse evidence.

* * *

"Well, there's precious little to go on." Frank ran a hand over his bald head. "I'm sure you can match up the plastic… Doesn't get you to the car though. It's not likely to appear in a shop for repair – it's just four screws to replace a light guard…"

"Hoped you might have some new ideas."

"How many matching vehicles, Eric?"

"A hundred plus."

"Prove that the plastic is what you think it is, and I can amend the BOLO. I can check the main dealers to see if they've sold a light guard… although it's not the sort of thing people always bother to mend." Frank thought hard. "I suppose it's likely it's someone you've locked up… Let me get you a list of recent prison releases…"

"All right – ones where I was the lead, since it seems personal. And check for people who were transferred to other prisons," Horatio added.

"And," Eric put in, "we wondered if it was someone upset by a failed court case…"

"A victim who thought they'd been let down? Okay, I'll pull out any 'not guilties'. What else can I do?" The big detective looked at his friend. "Hell, Horatio – suppose they try again?"

"That's what I keep saying," said Eric.

"Listen, both of you." There was a hint of irritation in Horatio's voice. "There is nothing – _nothing_ – I can do about that. I'm not going into hiding."

Frank stood up. "Let me work on prison and court records. I'll cross-reference with the owners of black GMCs."

"I'll work on the plastic and the mud," added Eric. "Horatio?"

"I'll go through recent cases – see if anything stands out. But if we haven't got anything by the end of today, I'm pulling the plug."

They met again at four o'clock. Progress was minimal. Eric had proved the provenance of the plastic, and also that the fertilizer was a very commonly used brand; used, among other places, in the parks in Miami. Frank had lists from prisons and courts, going back twelve months, but not a single match to an owner of a black SUV.

"Right," said Horatio, firmly. "We call it. We're going to have to wait for this guy to show himself again."

Frank sighed, depressed, but accepting they simply had nothing to pursue. He went to the door. "Do you know it's a guy?"

"What do you mean?" Eric looked puzzled. "A woman?"

"Could be. A ton of automobile is one weapon a woman can use as easily as a man. Just a thought."

"It's not a woman's crime, is it? Statistically?" Horatio frowned.

"Not usually. As I said, just a thought."

"Oh well, it's a thought that'll have to wait. For now, my leg hurts. I'm going home."

* * *

The next morning followed the same routine with Eric picking Horatio up.

"You know I could probably drive. It's my left leg. And it's getting better," Horatio said.

"I'd rather…" Eric hesitated. "Well, I'd rather you weren't on your own."

His boss's voice was gentle. "I'll have to be, soon."

"Not yet, okay?"

He had barely reached his office when Frank called.

"Do you remember Judge Westbrook?" he asked.

"Yeah, he retired a few years back, didn't he? Nice old boy…"

"Dead old boy. Someone ran him down last night."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

KNOW THINE ENEMY

Chapter 4

It took Horatio a few seconds to gather his thoughts. "You think it's connected?"

"Don't you? Deliberate hit-and-runs are relatively rare. A judge and a senior cop…?"

"What stage is it at? Has the night shift taken it?"

Frank chuckled. "No. Body wasn't found till this morning. It's all yours. ME's bringing the body in now. Crime scene's contained and secure." He passed on a few more details.

Horatio rang off and immediately summoned Eric. "Grab your kit. We've got a shout."

"You can't go."

"It's not up for debate. I'll see you downstairs."

In the Hummer, he told Eric what he knew. "There's a chance it's not connected."

"You don't believe that."

"I don't. I suspect this is going to come down to a case where he was judge and I was the lead CSI."

"If you're right, he could be going after others. Attorneys. Even the jury."

"I know. I'm trying not to think about it. We need to solve this quickly."

"There'll be more trace. Damage to the vehicle," Eric said firmly.

"With luck. The only odd thing is that Judge Westbrook's been retired for over three years, which would mean it's an old case. So why now?"

"Someone just released?"

"But we looked at those yesterday. No, forget the whys and possible connections for now. Let's just process this one."

The scene was a track, near the judge's secluded house. Although the body had been removed, a large smudge of blood was a clear marker. Distinct tire tracks… Eric followed them, careful not to step on anything that could be evidence.

"He turned round up here," he announced. "Went out the way he came in."

"Ran over him twice?"

"Likely." He glanced at his boss. "You can't bend down, can you?"

"Nope. You'll have to do the work. I'll do the thinking."

Eric grinned, and muttered, "Nothing new there then."

"What's that?" Horatio indicated a mound, at the side of the track, covered with a piece of black polythene.

Eric lifted it cautiously. "Dog. Black labrador. I guess the judge was walking it. Probably his set routine."

"I suppose it might be evidence. We should take it in. I wish the ME had taken it." Horatio felt unaccountably sad, and gave himself a mental shake. "Right… Well, he definitely damaged his vehicle. Look…"

For the next hour, they carefully collected fragments, the largest of which was a piece of grille – black; the smallest, shards of glass. Eric cast the tire treads. At last he straightened up.

"Do we need to go to the house?" he asked.

"Not at the moment. The house is sealed off, if we need it later. The judge lived alone."

"Except for his dog."

"Except for his dog…"

They loaded the bagged items into the Hummer. Eric extracted a giant evidence bag, and carefully eased the stiffening body of the dog into it. He put it in the back of the car.

They drove back in silence. Horatio reached into his pocket for the pill bottle and shook out two tablets. Eric felt around in the door pocket and passed him a bottle of water.

"Sore?"

"Aching all over. It's the longest I've spent standing up."

His colleague said nothing, and Horatio smiled to himself – the fruitless arguments had obviously stopped.

As they reached the lab, he said, "We'll take the dog to the morgue first."

Tom Loman was apologetic. "Sorry, Horatio – I thought as I was driving back – I should have brought the dog."

"No worries, Tom. But it might have evidence on it… So yes, in future…"

"Do you want me to… ah… process it?"

"She. It's a bitch." Horatio smiled. "No, just keep the body in case we need to look at her. What about the judge?"

"Severe trauma. Open leg fractures. Obvious crush injuries. Consistent with being run over – twice at least. I've sent his clothes up to trace. I'll let you have my full report later." He hesitated. "It's a small mercy, but I think he died quickly."

"It's no way to go though, is it? Retired, walking your dog…" He turned to leave, leaning on his cane.

"I hear it nearly happened to you."

"It did. But I got out of the way. Almost."

"Nothing broken?"

"No, heavy bruising. It's getting better." He left before he was given more unwanted medical advice.

He went to join Eric in the layout room. "What have you got?"

"So far, what you'd expect. The grille is definitely from a GMC. It's got blood on it – I've just sent samples to DNA, though I guess we know what the result will be."

"The glass?"

"Just looking at that. A headlight and an indicator, I think. I'll piece them together – see if we can get serial numbers…"

"Okay. Keep me posted."

"I was thinking… This may buy us a bit of time…"

"How so?"

"Well, someone's not going to drive around in a car with severe front-end damage. And, unless they're stupid, they won't take it anywhere obvious for repair."

"They might do the repair themselves. Grille, replacement lights…"

"Even so… Got to buy parts. And it takes time. All I'm saying – it may be a while before they can go after someone else."

"I take your point. They might just acquire another vehicle though. Or stick to after-dark. Keep going, Eric. I'm going to try to match up my and Judge Westbrook's cases."

He went back to his office, put the coffee machine on, and sat down to think. He imagined the perpetrator wouldn't be careless enough to get the vehicle repaired, but it didn't hurt to cover the possibility. He called Frank and asked him to trawl the main car dealers and repair shops; he was aware, however, that any search was bound to miss many small back street outfits.

With a sigh, he switched the computer on, and began work. Instinct told him he needed to go back a long way, not stick to 'recent'. He acquired Judge Westbrook's lists, from five years before his retirement, up until the date he actually gave up work. The judge had been a busy man. It was a horrendously long list.

One thing in Horatio's favor was his memory for names. Reading carefully through the lists, he found he could remember many cases that he'd been involved in. And many he knew he hadn't been. He marked the certainties, and put a query beside others that rang no bells. He accepted it was risky to work from memory – he could just miss the vital one - but it seemed a valid tactic for a first pass. It was still going to be a very long job.

He started on the 'definites', pulling up more detailed records, making notes about verdicts, sentences, and about the guilty parties themselves, where he recalled them. He noted the names of the attorneys on the cases, but he noticed, with some disappointment, that there were no jury records. Well, they must be somewhere – it was something he'd never had to access. He worked steadily, but was still less than halfway through when Eric came to his office.

He gratefully pushed the papers aside, and rubbed tired eyes. "How're you doing?"

"Not bad. We've got most of the headlight and indicator lens. Definitely a GMC."

"Anything that gives the exact vehicle?"

"No, unfortunately, although it does narrow down its age – between 2003 and 2008. I've told Frank. The interesting thing is that the headlight has been replaced before – the part number says it's younger than the car."

"How young?"

"Since 2011."

"As you say… interesting," Horatio said thoughtfully. "What else?"

"The blood is the judge's, as expected. And some canine. Trace are still working on the clothes. And Tom's still doing his report." He regarded his boss sympathetically. "You look worn out."

"It's a longer job than I thought… I'm looking at a five-year span…"

"How far have you got?"

"Not far. Maybe a third?"

"Let me take you home. It's gone four. And I bet you skipped lunch."

"I didn't know it was so late." He went to stand, winced sharply, and sat back down. "Yeah, my concentration's going…" He smiled. "And my back." He made it to his feet. "Let me clear up – I'll see you downstairs. We'll pick it up tomorrow."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

KNOW THINE ENEMY

Chapter 5

Tom's report showed that Judge Westbrook, apart from a completely crushed chest, was, in his words, 'a healthy man'. Trace found nothing unexpected; plenty of evidence of the incident, some dog hairs, but nothing else. And the black car had disappeared. Any hope that it might be dumped, torched, or dropped in a river, dissipated, as the days passed. Even Horatio's list of cases wasn't helping – it was just too long. He knew he needed another parameter to narrow it. Unfortunately, the only parameter that came to mind was another victim.

On the plus side, his bruised body was healing slowly, and he thought he could use his gun again, though it hadn't been put to the test. Eric hadn't stopped hovering over him. He was going to have to have a word about that…

After three days, he was forced to admit that they still had nothing, and Tom Loman phoned, asking to release the body.

"Yes, you can. Has he got family?"

"A sister's taking care of things. Can I release the dog? The sister says the judge would want them buried together."

"Yes, let the dog go with him." Horatio felt a wave of sadness. A lifetime spent serving the community, and the judge's last friend was his dog. Still, perhaps that was only right. He would have seen all the worst aspects of that community, and probably the dog's loyalty was the best antidote.

He wondered briefly if he'd end up like that, then put the thought aside, and reluctantly considered relegating another hit-and-run to the back-burner.

* * *

Two days later, he attended the funeral, and was pleased to see that the judge had been far from friendless; his demise had brought out large numbers of friends and former colleagues. Horatio stood at the back of the crowd, hoping to avoid questions about how the case was going, and wondered if the beloved dog had made it into the grave with her master.

Back at the lab, thoroughly depressed, he called Eric in for a chat.

"What's up?" His colleague was now working on a different case. "You look… I don't know… grim."

"I've just come from Judge Westbrook's funeral, that's all. And, luckily, no one asked me how the case was going. Lucky, because it's going nowhere."

"You've said it to me plenty of times – if the evidence isn't there –"

"I know that. I just keep thinking we're missing something."

"I don't think so. Hit-and-runs are difficult because the perp doesn't touch the victim. Doesn't get out of the vehicle. Without the car, we're bound to have next to nothing."

"Sorry, Eric – I just need to talk it through. There must be a different way of looking at it… We've solved them before."

"We have… But first, we usually find the car – even if it's in the river. And second, we can look into the victim's background for motive. In this case – and yours – it looks like a general vendetta against law enforcement."

"So no new ideas…"

"Sorry, H, none. Something'll turn up, you'll see. How do you feel, anyway?"

"Oh, not bad. Can't stand for too long. Still can't bend down. But okay – you have to stop worrying about me." He drew a deep breath. "Right, I'm going to have to shelve this case – for now."

He did, and other cases took over. But the hit-and-runs weren't far from his mind. Neither, though he admitted it to no one, was his own near-miss. Determined not to change his routine, he nevertheless found himself driving to places he might have walked. He excused it to himself as taking care of his leg, but he knew that wasn't the whole story. He couldn't yet go running, so he spent all his time at home or in the lab. Or at crime scenes, where he was always with other CSIs or police officers. He wasn't fearful, but he had to acknowledge that he was more cautious than usual. Yet another reason to want to see the guy caught.

* * *

It was a week later, and he was sitting on the fire escape steps with Frank Tripp, drinking coffee. It was one of their favorite places for a relaxing chat. Their respective break rooms were usually too noisy; noisy, and then going quiet if someone senior came in. Hardly relaxing.

"We had another hit-and-run last night," Frank said casually. "They're obviously crime of the month." He didn't sound concerned.

Horatio stared at him. "Why didn't you call me?"

"Oh, nothing to do with yours. I'm winding you up. It was a little blue Ford, and we caught the driver a mile down the road."

"Even so… Tell me…"

"A woman – said she didn't know she'd hit anyone. She ran over 'something in the road'. But she cracked the radiator so the car soon seized up. She was completely hysterical when she was told – they had to take her to hospital and treat her for shock. So – nothing like yours."

"Is the guy dead? It was a guy, I presume."

"Yes. And yes."

Horatio was silent. He hated coincidences.

"What?" Frank asked.

"Do you mind if I look at the details? I'm a bit sensitive about hit-and-runs at the moment."

"No, look all you want. The reports are on my desk. Collect them on the way through."

"Are you charging her?"

"Don't know yet. I'm waiting on the autopsy – the night shift didn't get round to it. If the guy was really lying in the road, her story's credible… It's not even a hit-and-run really – just an accident she didn't know she had."

Horatio sipped his coffee, wondering if he was over-reacting. Miami was a big and busy city. Car accidents happened all the time. People ran into people… Most likely Frank was right, but it wouldn't hurt to look.

Laura McClusky… The name didn't ring any bells, and, when he pulled her record, neither did the face. Not that there was much of a record. One DUI in 2011. The mug shot showed a hard-looking bleached blond, of thirty-two. She looked older. The police report of last night's incident said only what Frank had already told him. The victim was one Joseph Johnson, aged fifty-eight. Certified dead at the scene. No record… That name didn't ring a bell either.

He suspected he ought to just give the report back to PD, and let them get on with it, but his natural curiosity got the better of him and he found himself in the morgue, where Tom Loman was working on Mr Johnson's body.

"Horatio?" The ME looked surprised. "Didn't know this was one of yours."

"It's not. Just curious, since the automobile seems to be weapon of choice this month."

"I believe this one's supposed to be an accident."

"Supposed?"

"Well, I can't say," the doctor said. He pulled the sheet back, revealing obvious damage to the shins. "That's up to you people. I can tell you that he was standing up when he was hit."

Horatio went straight back to Frank to tell him what Tom had said.

"So she lied, huh?" Frank scowled.

"Well, maybe not. If the man had already been knocked down and was lying in the road… It's happened before."

"Can you prove that?"

"We've got the car, yes?"

"It's impounded."

Horatio grinned. "Then we can prove it." He touched Frank's arm. "Can I take this one?"

"Can I stop you? Yes, go for it."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

KNOW THINE ENEMY

Chapter 6

With the Ford in their garage, and trace from the victim, it wasn't hard to prove. Horatio went back to Frank.

"She knocked him down."

"You're sure?"

"Oh, I'm sure. There's his blood up on the hood, and bits of the car's paint in the guy's legs. No way was he already lying in the road."

Frank stood up. "I'd better go and bring her in then. She lives out in the wilds somewhere…" He turned up a piece of paper. "'Peace Farm'."

"I hope she's still there."

"Hey, we didn't have enough to hold her last night, man! Anyway, why should she run? She had an accident, that's all." He frowned at Horatio. "You think there's more to this?"

Horatio sighed. "I don't know, Frank. Probably not. She probably lied because she was frightened. I told you – I'm a bit sensitive about hit-and-runs. I expect I'm looking for connections where there are none."

Frank shrugged. "Can't blame you for that. Do you want to interview her?"

"No, you do it."

"Okay, see you later."

Horatio returned to his office, made coffee, and sat at his desk, nursing the mug, deep in thought. If there was a connection, then it meant that Joseph Johnson was connected… to something… The man had no record. He supposed it was possible he had appeared in some court case… witness, maybe… He pulled out his list of Judge Westbrook's cases, and scanned down the names again. No Joseph Johnson. He hadn't really expected there to be.

He looked at the incident report again, and noted that Mr Johnson's next-of-kin was his wife. On an impulse, Horatio called Calleigh.

"Spare me a minute?"

"Of course, boss."

As always, he found his spirits lifted at the sight of his blond ballistics expert, and her warm smile, as she sat down in front of him.

"How are you, boss?"

"Fine. Almost fit again."

"I'm so glad. It frightened me – all of us – that someone could do that to you."

"Well," he smiled, "it frightened me. Anyway, I wondered if you would do a little job for me. It's a bit off-the-record…"

"What do you need?"

He explained about last night's victim. "Logic tells me there's no connection, but my gut's telling me otherwise. Which may, of course, just be over-sensitivity on my part. I want you to talk to his wife – widow."

"And say what?"

"I want it to appear as a normal police thing – how sorry we are, et cetera, investigations continuing. But, if you can get her chatting… I want to know about her husband, what he did for a living and so on. What I want most is to know if he's ever been involved in a court case…"

Calleigh nodded thoughtfully. "Why me?"

Horatio chuckled. "It's sexist, I know, but because you're a woman. More than that, you're someone people find it easy to talk to. Do you mind?"

"No, I'll have a go. It depends if she's the chatty sort. Can I tell her anything about the accident?"

"I haven't even got the ME's report yet. I think it's safe to say we've identified the driver. Other than that… say we'll keep in touch with her. Don't push her – just see what you can get without upsetting her. Don't let her suspect it wasn't just an accident." He smiled ruefully. "Which it may well have been."

"I understand, boss. Give me the address. I'll see what I can do."

Later that day, Horatio wandered down to see how Frank's interview was going. He watched, unseen, but still had no recollection of the woman. Laura McClusky was in tears, protesting her innocence. It was an accident, she was afraid to stop in the middle of the night, she hadn't really meant to lie, she had panicked… Horatio had heard it all before. So had Frank, and he was pushing hard. Horatio left him to it.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon before Calleigh returned. She looked pleased with herself.

"You got something?"

"Maybe. Once she started, she wouldn't stop talking. Her husband was in the construction industry. They've been married for thirty-odd years. Grown-up children, and grandkids. At least she won't be alone."

"Calleigh…"

"I'm getting to it." She chided his impatience. "She remembered he was once the jury foreman on a case. She said he hated doing it, but felt it was his duty. She couldn't remember when but she thought about seven years ago. And she didn't know any details, because, apparently, Joseph wouldn't discuss it."

"Well, he's not allowed to."

"I know that. But even afterwards. She said it upset him, because it was a capital case and the jury had to decide whether or not to recommend the death penalty."

"Did they?"

She nodded. "She said he fought against it, but finally went with the majority. She thinks it preyed on his conscience afterwards. Does that help?"

"You bet it does! It makes our connection and there are only going to be a few death penalty cases. Calleigh, you're wonderful!"

"Glad to be of service, boss." She smiled at him.

He rang Frank. "Don't let McClusky go. I'll explain later."

He went back to his lists and pulled out the only four cases where the death penalty had been invoked. He had more trouble obtaining jury records.

The clerk he spoke to sounded bored and unhelpful. "I don't think our records go that far back…"

"They must do. How do you know not to call someone for jury service again?"

"They're selected by computer."

"So the records are on the computer."

"I suppose so."

Horatio's temper snapped. "Are they or aren't they? What's your name?"

"Matthew…"

"Matthew what?"

"Matthew Simpson. Sir," he added as an afterthought.

"Well, Matthew Simpson, I'm going to make it easy for you. I'll give you a name, and I want to know what case he served on and when. Come back to me within five minutes, and I'll overlook your reluctance to help the police." He gave the name.

"It might take longer, Sir. I have to get permission from-"

Horatio cut him off, and went to find Frank, who had returned to his desk.

"She's in holding," the detective said. "Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

"I think I'm establishing a connection between this one and Judge Westbrook. And me."

"Really? Different car… And who's Ms McClusky?"

"No idea, yet. Can we get a search warrant for her place?"

"Horatio! I've got no grounds for one." He thought for a moment. "Look, establish some sort of connection between her and the judge, and I probably can. He was popular. His colleagues won't look too hard before they sign." He chuckled. "Seen that look before."

"What look is that, Frank?" he asked innocently.

"Sort of hunting dog on a scent."

Horatio's cell phone bleeped. "Ah, Mr Simpson…" He signalled to Frank for a pen and paper, and scribbled something down. "Thank you. See? That wasn't so difficult? Fax me confirmation." He listened for a few moments, a slight smirk on his face. "You're off the hook. Just remember – we both serve this city. If a police officer asks for information, it's because he needs it, not just to complicate your life."

"Who's that?" Frank was curious.

"Some obstructive little clock-watcher at the court." He looked at the piece of paper. "Leroy Biggs…"

"Cop killer. We executed him last fall. About time too. He's your connection?"

"Ninety-nine per cent sure. Half an hour, Frank… I'll fill in the gaps and come back to you."

Frank, shaking his head, watched him go.

It took just one more phone call, to the prison, and the visitors' logs, to establish that Laura had been a frequent visitor to the late Leroy Biggs. Horatio grabbed the fax from the machine and went back to Frank.

"Right – Leroy Biggs – Judge Westbrook presided – Joseph Johnson, jury foreman – me, lead CSI. Laura McClusky, girlfriend. Satisfied?"

Frank stood up. "I'll go and arrest her. Want to watch?

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

KNOW THINE ENEMY

Chapter 7

"Laura McClusky, I'm arresting you on suspicion of the murders of Judge Randolph Westbrook, Joseph Johnson, and the attempted murder of Lieutenant Horatio Caine. You have the right to remain silent…"

Horatio stayed in the background, again out of sight, and watched the woman decline that right, forcefully.

No tears this time. Her voice was a raucous angry shriek. "I haven't murdered anybody, you stupid man! I ran into some old drunk, staggering across the road. It was an accident! I don't even know the others!"

Frank said quietly, "Shut up." He resumed, and finished, reading her rights. He signalled to a uniformed officer. "Arrange her transfer to lock-up."

"You can't keep me here! I've got animals to feed at home!"

"Guess you should have thought of that before. Interview tomorrow, Missy. Give it some thought."

He locked the holding cell behind him and caught hold of Horatio's arm. "Come on, partner. She's giving me a headache."

They waited for the elevator. "Has she got animals?" Horatio asked.

"I saw a couple of horses. Scrawny looking things, but they won't starve overnight. I'll make sure she's staying in, and get Animal Services onto it."

"And my search warrant?"

Frank chuckled. "All right, all right! First thing in the morning do for you? I promise she's not going anywhere, and it's late."

"I guess…"

"By the way, Tom sent his report up. Johnson had no alcohol or drugs in his system, so he wasn't 'some old drunk', and the impact didn't kill him. He had a heart attack immediately afterwards."

"Still murder, Frank."

"Oh, I know. As long as a tricky lawyer doesn't argue that he died of a heart condition… But there's the judge, and her attempt on you… I don't think she's going to confess, mind."

"See what we find at the house tomorrow. If we can nail her with evidence, we don't need a confession."

"Can I come along?"

"Of course. Need you ask? I was going to take Eric too. What about interviewing her?"

Frank rubbed his hands together. "Let her wait."

* * *

Laura McClusky's residence might kindly be called a farm, but it was more a couple of decrepit barns and an old trailer. There were indeed two skinny horses grazing in an almost bare field. At the arrival of the two vehicles, they had looked up hopefully and trotted to the fence.

"They're hungry," Eric murmured. "In fact, they look half starved."

"We'll get help for them, but let's finish our search first," Horatio replied. "We don't want any extra feet trampling the place. Do we have keys, Frank?"

"Damn." Frank smiled benignly. "Forgot to ask."

"Eric, get the door open."

Eric pulled a crowbar from the Hummer, but it proved unnecessary, as the trailer door opened with a sharp tug. Horatio would have sworn Frank looked disappointed.

"How do you want to do this?"

"You and I will do the trailer. Eric, take a look in the barns. Go carefully – we don't know what she keeps in there."

The old trailer had the usual smell of damp and cooking, but it was fairly neat. Frank started at one end, Horatio at the other, and they searched in silence, carefully removing drawers, feeling for loose panels on floor and walls, moving anything moveable, perusing every scrap of paper…

They had been working for only ten minutes when Eric appeared at the door. "Come and see what I've found."

"Just tell me," Horatio said, as both men looked up.

"A damaged black SUV."

"Good. I thought we might." Horatio grinned at him. "Get a recovery vehicle out here – get it to the lab. Careful with the front end – it should be covered with evidence."

"Oh, it is. I can see the blood and hair on it." He went back out, pulling out a cell phone.

"Did you know?" Frank looked at Horatio.

"Of course I didn't. But hoped. Suspected. Where else was it going to be?"

"So we'll tie her to the judge. Now there's just you."

Horatio shrugged. "We might not be able to prove that. Doesn't matter. Come on, let's go on searching – we might find something else."

They resumed the search.

"Got a gun here," Frank announced. "Under her pillow."

"I suppose I was lucky she didn't shoot me then," Horatio remarked drily. He was wrestling with a sticking drawer. He muttered, "Come on!"

"Want some extra muscle?" Frank chuckled.

"I want to find evidence, not destroy it." The drawer came out suddenly, scattering papers on the floor. "Damn it!"

With a grunt, he forced his still stiff knee to bend as he gathered up the papers. He took them over to the table where the light was better.

After a few moments, he murmured, "Jackpot…"

"What have you got?" Frank came over to him.

Lying on the table was a transcript of Leroy Biggs's trial. "And this." He turned a single handwritten sheet towards the detective, and watched his friend's expression as he read the list. "The proverbial smoking gun."

"Dear God, she was after _everyone._" Frank murmured. "Judge, prosecutor, witnesses, jury… And addresses… Some anyway… I suppose we should check if she's killed anyone we don't know about."

"No need. She put crosses against her successes."

"Hey, Calleigh's on this list."

"I know – she gave the ballistics testimony. Don't tell her, Frank. There's no point, now."

"I won't. Have we got enough? Because I'm dying to see what she has to say. Oh, unless you want to do the interview…"

"I'd rather not. Yet. She'll obviously recognise me. Let's keep it as a nasty surprise for her. See how you get on first. You go back if you want. Eric and I have to wait for the recovery truck."

Horatio went to find Eric, in the smaller of the two barns. "We've got her. We found a list of intended victims… What have you got there?"

Eric looked up from his crouching position. "A mama dog and four pups. Very young. Very weak. You know, she never made a sound…" He stood up. "I've given her some water…"

Horatio sighed. "You'd better call the animal division. We can add animal cruelty to everything else. Did you hear what I said? We've got her. The list, plus the vehicles…"

"So you can stop looking over your shoulder now."

"I haven't been! Have I?"

"You've been a bit… edgy. Who wouldn't be? I'll make that call and then get the SUV ready for transportation. Okay?"

Horatio sat on a bale of hay, and watched the bitch nursing her puppies. Or trying to. She was thin, and seemed to be struggling. _Cruel people in the world… _The dog looked at him with trusting brown eyes, and risked a tentative tail-wag. "Hey, dog, the world's not that good, you know. Lots of bad people." _Talking to dogs now, Horatio… Must be old age._

At last he heard the rumble of the recovery vehicle, and stood up. "Not long, dog, I promise." He carefully closed the barn door, and went to supervise the loading.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

KNOW THINE ENEMY

Chapter 8

They followed the truck out to the main road, passing the Animal Control officers on their way in.

"Glad that dog's getting help," Eric murmured. He glanced at Horatio. "Do you like dogs?"

"More than I used to. Since Cecile got that little monster, Seb. He's got… character."

They drove in silence for a while, until Eric suddenly laughed.

"What?"

"I was thinking – This woman's killed two people, and wrecked two cars in the process. It could get mighty expensive."

"I suppose she'd have changed method. We found a gun in the trailer. Although, using a vehicle sort of shields you from the actual killing. Shooting's rather up close and personal. She might not have had the stomach for it."

"I'm just glad we caught her."

"Now we have to pull the evidence together…"

It proved very easy. With Eric processing the outside, and Horatio the interior, the SUV readily yielded evidence of its impact on Judge Westbrook and his dog. Inside, there were fingerprints of only one person. And that was Laura McClusky.

Horatio peeled his gloves off. "That's it, then."

"Look at this…" Eric held up something minute in his tweezers.

"What is it?"

"A hair."

"You've got plenty of those."

"This one's red." He put it carefully in an evidence bag. "It was snagged in the broken headlight. We'll prove it hit you yet."

Horatio shrugged. "With one hair? Anyway, it doesn't really matter, does it?"

"Well, I think it does." Eric said firmly. "And we've got her hit list."

"I'm going to see how Frank's getting on."

Before that though, Horatio returned to his office, and phoned the State's senior prosecutor. "Gerry? Horatio… Thought I'd just give you a heads up – we've got Judge Westbrook's killer."

Gerald Duffy was his usual ebullient self. "That's the best news I've heard in a while. Is it solid?"

"Bit more to do yet, but it's as near a sure thing as you can get. She also killed another man – Joseph Johnson." He outlined the case.

"What a charming woman," the prosecutor murmured.

"And she tried to kill me…"

"My God, Horatio! Are you serious? What – she ran you down?"

"Yes, but I got away with a few bruises. Oh, and you can add a couple of charges of animal cruelty, if you think there's any point in a murder trial."

"You'd be surprised. If she ever starts to look sympathetic to a jury, that's just the sort of detail to bring them back. File everything you've got, Horatio. I'll decide what to use."

They talked for a little longer. Horatio liked Gerald Duffy. His easy genial manner belied his razor-sharp mind, and masked a vast knowledge of the law and a keen instinct about jury trials. Horatio was always reassured when he was doing the prosecuting himself.

"Must go, Horatio," he said at last. "You take care, my friend. I'd hate to lose my favorite good guy."

"You too, Gerry."

He went to find Frank and found him eating a very late lunch at his desk. "Well?"

"I'm taking a break. She's all 'no comment, no comment' at the moment. I got bored."

"It doesn't really matter. The evidence is so solid."

"Nice to break her though. Get a confession. She's a real piece of work…"

"I've just talked to Gerald Duffy – told him what to expect," Horatio said.

"He was delighted, no doubt."

"Well, the judge was a friend of his. He said, the only problems he could see were a possible plea of insanity."

"Which she is, of course."

"Oh, probably. I mean, that much revenge for a low-life like Biggs? Must have been the love affair of the century. I don't believe it for a minute. God knows what her motivation is. Although…" he mused, "killers do attract these strange women… I think Ted Bundy got six marriage proposals… But, as Gerry pointed out, the legal definition of insanity is far narrower. She planned it all out, stalked her targets, worked out their routines; clear premeditation. The other problem is whether she actually killed Johnson, but there's no doubt that was her intent. So yes, I'd say he was looking forward to taking her on. Oh, and he said he'd seek the death penalty."

"Seems kinda… just." Frank stood up. "I'll have one more go at cracking her. Come in, if you want."

"I might later."

* * *

Laura McClusky's eyes narrowed in recognition when Horatio stepped into the interrogation room. "You!"

"Me," he said evenly. "In one piece, as you see."

"Bastard…" she muttered under her breath.

"Laura, I'm sure Detective Tripp has told you we've got all we need to charge you, so I'm just satisfying my own curiosity. How did you know I'd be on that street?"

She glared at him for a moment, then said. "Turn the recorder off."

Horatio nodded to Frank, who did so.

"I was driving round, seeing how and where I could get to you. I couldn't believe it when I saw you walking down the street, without a care in the world. That hair's unmistakeable, Lieutenant Caine."

"And you couldn't resist me, huh?"

She shrugged. "I should have waited. I misjudged it, but it _was_ my first attempt, and I obviously needed the practise. Did it hurt?"

"One more question. Why?"

"Why you?"

"No. Why the killing spree? Not for Leroy Biggs, surely."

"I loved him. We were going to be married."

"Really?"

"You wouldn't understand. He was funny, sensitive…"

Horatio heard Frank's derisive snort, but he just nodded. There was clearly no point in arguing with her. He turned to go.

Laura added, "You shouldn't have executed him. It's barbaric."

He turned back, eyes angry. "Strange choice of words, Laura… Nothing much more barbaric than running down an old man and his dog."

"I was sorry about the dog, but it couldn't be helped. At least he wasn't strapped to a gurney, injected with poison-"

"You're against the death penalty. I get it." Horatio turned away again, then, at the door, looked back. "Tell you what, Laura… You might just get a chance to experience it first-hand. Hope it was worth it."

THE END


End file.
